"I assure you that she is really sad," rejoined the abbe. "Nowadays, when she is gay, her gaiety is excessive; at such a time there seems to be something strange and forced about her which is quite foreign to her usual manner. Then the next minute she relapses into a state of melancholy, which I never noticed before the famous night in the forest. You may be certain that night was a terrible experience."

"True, she was obliged to witness a frightful scene at Gazeau Tower," said M. de la Marche; "and then she must have been very much exhausted and frightened when her horse bolted from the field and galloped right through the forest. Yet her pluck is so remarkable that . . . What do you think, my dear Monsieur Bernard? When you met her in the forest, did she seem very frightened?"

"In the forest?" I said. "I did not meet her in the forest at all."

"No; it was in Varenne that you met her, wasn't it?"

The abbe hastened to intervene. . . . "By-the-bye, Monsieur Bernard, can you spare me a minute to talk over a little matter connected with your property at . . ."

Hereupon he drew me out of the drawing-room, and said in a low voice:

"There is no question of business; I only want to beg of you not to let a single soul, not even M. de la Marche, suspect that Mademoiselle de Mauprat was at Roche-Mauprat for the fraction of a second."

"And why?" I asked. "Was she not under my protection there? Did she not leave it pure, thanks to me? Must it not be well known to the neighbourhood that she passed two hours there?"